


Title

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11453676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel’s interested from the first moment he sees Erestor, stiff exterior or no.





	Title

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for raisingcain-oneagain’s “Glorfindel/Erestor [...] "Name"” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/162565904960/prompt-list-3).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s not _Gondolin_ , but Mandos warned him that nothing would be, and after the stifling mists of those halls, Glorfindel would happily live anywhere just to feel _alive_ again. Even as Lord Elrond shows him around Imladris, Glorfindel’s skin burns for _more_ , to indulge in delights long since denied to him—eating, sleeping, even lying next to another: feeling their touch. He feels like a wraith set loose again amongst the waking world, and he basks in the bright sunshine as they walk. 

“My staff should always be available to you,” Elrond is telling him, down the cobblestone path that weaves right through the courtyard’s vivid garden. “If you wish, a personal attendant can be assigned to you—I am sure we have not the resources of old that you were once accustomed to and indeed deserve, but I assure you we will do all we can to make you feel at home here.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel answers, already pleased with his new accommodations. “That will not be necessary, I think. I believe I should find all I need.” Elrond gives him a fond nod. Glorfindel finds himself smiling—though Lord Elrond is nothing like King Turgon was, he already strikes Glorfindel as a strong leader, valiant and kind. He welcomed Glorfindel himself at the gates, and he’s made himself available to Glorfindel at every turn. In time, Glorfindel hopes to return the favour—to fit into the workings of Imladris and find a way to be of use again.

He’s constantly looking about him as he goes, eyeing the quaint buildings, decorated with new patterns and sweeping arches that, while poorer than his memories, boast an art that’s developed over generations. The busy elves that occasionally pass them grace him with smiles, some bows, and all look content. Glorfindel believes he will be too. 

Then his eyes catch on the far side of a courtyard, where a tall elf with straight, dark hair is drifting down the open corridor, his deep blue robes stirring faintly about his feet. His skin is pale, his face sharp, pink lips in a subtle frown, and Glorfindel, for that first moment, is struck still by the sight of it.

Elrond follows his gaze, and Glorfindel asks, “Who is that?” The elf has just stopped, pausing at a board hung on the side of the building above a flowerbed, where several notes are pinned. He seems to be taking some and adding another, Glorfindel’s eyes watching every movement. The elf moves with purpose, determination, and unfathomable grace. Glorfindel can already feel things stirring in him that he hasn’t felt for centuries. 

“Ah, my chief councilor,” Elrond affords him, glancing at his rapt expression. “Perhaps you would wish to meet him yourself? I believe our tour is mostly finished, and I am afraid I do have some matters to attend to...”

“Of course,” Glorfindel concedes without looking, his gaze still ensnared elsewhere. He utters distractedly, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

He can see Elrond’s smile in his peripherals, and then Elrond is sweeping off, and Glorfindel is fixed in place, pleased to be alone. He thinks Elrond must’ve seen his intentions, because this does make it easier to approach the new elf in the way he wants. It’s been far too long since he exercised such skills, but he was well loved in Gondolin, and he thinks he remembers how to earn such interest here. He sets off on his own, drawn like a moth to flame.

By the time he’s crossed the courtyard, the elf has just finished his postings, and is now turning outwards, only to be cornered. Glorfindel instantly dips into a bow, low and important, then straightening again to announce, “Might I introduce myself? I am—”

“I know your name, Lord Glorfindel,” the elf smoothly tells him, expression wryly amused. He’s even more stunning up close, though there’s a certain sternness to his eyes and posture that Glorfindel longs to shatter. He adds in the following silence, “I welcome you to Imladris.” Then he folds in a quieter bow, full of nuance and respect without being showy. Glorfindel offers him a wide grin, one that often had maidens swooning in Gondolin.

Though this elf seems hardly the type to swoon, Glorfindel lowers suddenly to one knee, where he reaches for the elf’s hand in a grand gesture. The elf allows Glorfindel to gently hold his fingers, drawing him forward by it to press a lingering kiss against the lean knuckles. Bent over that slender hand, Glorfindel lifts his head to breathlessly say, “You know my name, then, but I do not have the pleasure of knowing yours. I must ask what name this gorgeous creature before me goes by.”

“You may ask,” the elf idly returns, grin growing though his lashes remain low, his handsome visage unaffected. “I wonder, though, what use a renowned lord of old would have for the name of a simple servant?”

Glorfindel can already tell this is no mere servant, though he’s lain with servants before without objection. He presses another kiss to the elf’s hand, their gaze still connected, then tilts his head back. He forces a flush to his face and his eyes half closed, so he can purr, raspy and low, “When I have made you hoarse from screaming mine, I would wish to whisper yours into your ear as I finish inside you.”

Both of the elf’s brows lift, but there’s no effect beyond that. He merely muses, “You are certainly bold, my lord.”

“Only because your beauty tempts me so.”

The elf gives a gentle roll of his shoulders, almost flippant, and his hand withdraws from Glorfindel’s hand, bidding Glorfindel to rise again to his feet. Standing tall as close to the elf as possible and infinitely pleased that the elf makes no move to back away, Glorfindel traces the elf’s lips with his eyes. The elf drawls out of them, “You know nothing of me.”

“I know enough to wish to please you,” Glorfindel returns, whilst mentally calculating just which acts he should describe. Something about this elf tells Glorfindel that he’d like it _rough_ , and Glorfindel is tempted to reach out and give his hair a little tug, just to see if it makes him flush more than Glorfindel’s words have. For a moment, the elf seems to be caught in his own quiet contemplation.

Finally, he says, “It would please me if you were to _earn_ my name. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord, I have duties I must see to, which now involving informing every elf within these walls not to release my name to you until I have decreed it.” He gives a pointed look to Glorfindel’s chest, and Glorfindel, stunned, steps aside.

The elf gives him a curt bow, then strolls right past him, standing just as tall and straight as he did before Glorfindel’s failed attempt at seduction.

Except, Glorfindel realizes, he hasn’t truly been rejected. If anything, he believes he’s just been challenged. And while Glorfindel’s never faced such a strange invitation in his life, either one, he’s certainly interested to try.

He vows to do just that and says a silent thank you to the Valar, who’ve chosen well for him, as always.


End file.
